


A Long Way from a Miracle

by Writer_of_Words88



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, Angel Healing, Angel Wings, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Cage Fights, Complete, Demons, Fire, Forbidden Love, Gladiators, Hurt Crowley, Idiots in Love, Lions, M/M, Pre-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Slave Trade, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), colosseum, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_of_Words88/pseuds/Writer_of_Words88
Summary: Crowley has been in bad situations before, but this time it's all or nothing.  The demon managed to piss off not only his higherups in Hell but the local Romans, earning him a place among those they deem traitors. Crowley must battle for his life within the walls of the Colosseum in order to win his freedom. But can he do it, when his hellish powers have been revoked?





	1. When in Rome...

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens FanFic Timeline:  
Pre-Canon:  
The Pharaoh’s Son – Egypt 14th Century BC  
An Angel in the Brothel – Pompeii 62 AD  
A Long Way from a Miracle – Italy 217 AD  
Christmas Special: The Church of Saint Crowley – Turkey 300 AD  
The Devil’s Favor – England 1066 AD  
War Times – England 1941 AD
> 
> Post-Canon:  
The Bachelor Party – 2019 AD
> 
> Separate GO AU FanFic:  
Halloween Special: Sleepy Hollow (Human AU)  
Ineffable Prompts  
Instagram Prompt

**Rome, Italy 217 AD**

The lion ripped through the man’s flesh, spraying crimson onto the glaring sand below. Crowley stared at the scene, unfolding before him. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

He shivered from behind the safety of the gate, for the time. His waves of scarlet hair clung to his neck and cheeks in matted clumps. Weeks of sweat and sand had not been kind to him. Yet, it had been more kind than the slave traders, he supposed; but well, his last month on Earth had resembled the pits of Hell more than any amount of misfortune he’d received since the Beginning.

He squinted his glinting yellow eyes against the glare of sunlight. It bounced from the dazzling specks of sand, off the swords and shield that clang against man and beast, and it glittered down from the stadium of spectators, who watched as their property died for their idle entertainment. Crowley could see them up in the stands, lounging and gorging themselves on wine and grapes. It was delightfully sinful. Or, it would’ve been if he’d been up there instead of inches from the splatter zone.

He glanced down at his shackled hands, bound in massive iron manacles. Blood had crusted up one arm and along his neck to a spot just below his temple.

The lion swiped at the gate, raking its claws along the reinforced wooden beams. Crowley flinched back. He had until the last man inside the ring died, and then, he would suffer the same fate.

“Damn those bastards,” he hissed. His gaze roamed around his cell, falling on his guard, which was the wrong thing to do.

The pommel of a sword slammed into his cheek, knocking him to the ground. His vision hazed, darkening at the edges. He shook his head, trying to will away the spots that ebbed into his sight.

“That’ll be you out there soon, snake,” the greasy man spat in Latin. “I’m going to carve out those eyes of yours from your mangled corpse. A prize to prove the serpent disguised as a man died by my hand.”

Crowley spat out a bit of blood into the dirt and sneered. “Well.” He wiped as his mouth. “I mean, it wouldn’t be you, would it? That lion’s going to rip my head off; you’ll just be stealing his reward. I bet you’ll even wait till they kill it. You don’t have the guts to fight the big kitty-cat yourself, do you–”

The butt of the sword smashed into his head again. His ears rang as it sent a pounding ache through his skull. He cursed at himself. It was hard to remember to keep his mouth shut when he couldn’t heal as easily.

“You’re next, serpent. I hope you’ve made peace with your god.” The jailer stomped off away from the cell, leaving Crowley alone with his thoughts.

He shivered. Like he’d have a god to pray to for sanctuary. Crowley knew the only miracle he could ask for had been last heard from in Cairo and nowhere near Rome. He shuddered, letting his mind drift, and pictured that angelic face once more. Thousands of years together and he’d never have the chance to caress those blond locks, taste his inviting lips, or even–he quivered–or even hint at something that burned inside him. A feeling he couldn’t understand, but he’d read about, something that had been with humanity since it all began, since the Garden. And, it had infected the demon. It consumed him from the inside, constricting his lungs, wrapping around his heart, and poisoned his mind with…hope.

Iron greaves clanked through the bars, falling at his side, followed by a helmet, a sword, and a small shield meant to be strapped to his arm. The jailer spat on him before stalking off once more.

Crowley wiped the spittle from his face and eyed the armor.

There was a chance.

Well, there was always a chance he could survive. If he did manage to kill the two lions and the nine other gladiators, then he would have a possibility at a pardon or be sold to the highest bidder in the lot outside. Either would at least be another chance to get back on Dagon’s good side.

He really hadn’t meant to sleep through all the checkups, for ten years. Crowley had intended to wake up much sooner; however, the whole sleeping thing was still new. He’d really have to work on waking up more often, if he survived of course.

Crowley wobbled upright and thrust his legs into the greaves. They were a bit large for him but better than nothing. He buckled on the shield before turning the helmet over in his hand. It had a large dent near the forehead and had been caked with splatters of dried blood, some spots much darker than others. He sighed and placed it over his head. It reeked of blood and resurfaced wine. He tried not to gag as he gripped the sword in the sand at his feet.

The clang of metal sounded as the gate before him rose.

Crowley licked his lips, realizing for the first time, in a very long time, that he felt fear. This death would be brutal, agonizing, and probably everything he deserved. He gritted his teeth and stepped into the light.

“I’m sorry, angel. I don’t think I’ll be slithering out of this one.”

The crowd and the lions roared, eager for the fight.


	2. The Lion, the Angel, and the Temptation

Crowley threw himself to the side as four hundred pounds of fur and claws crashed into the sand. A gurgling scream echoed out from behind him; a man, who’d been attempting to sneak up and stab the demon in the back, had his throat ripped out by the massive king of beasts. 

Crowley grimaced, cursing the low visibility from inside the metal helm. While it helped protect his head, it made his near-misses much closer. He thrust his sword at the lion’s flank, then dove aside as a colossal spear embed itself in the cat’s rump. 

The lion roared, splitting the air into echoing vibrations that threatened to draw blood from the demon’s ears. Crowley stumbled away. He had to think.

Most of the men in the ring with him reeked of distrust and deceit. Even without his powers, he could sense their sins as bright as the blood dripping from their cuts and torn flesh. 

There had been only one who he’d chance. It was a young boy, about sixteen, and the fledgling of the group. The boy crept near the edge of the ring, brandishing a huge shield that he seemed barely able to carry and a long wooden spear.

Crowley knew the others would turn on him once the two lions were taken care of or if he managed to find his way in front of their weapons. The demon snarled and spun as a sword split the sand next him. He thrust the pommel of his blade into his attacker’s helmet, then kicked at the back of his legs. The gladiator sprawled on the ground and the second lion lunged, raking its claws through the man’s back. 

“There’s a good kitty,” Crowley hissed, dodging back to the side of the ring. He turned to the boy as he stood trembling with his eyes locked on the gruesome sight in front of him. “Pull yourself together, kid. I can’t help you if you keep looking like a fucking appetizer to the beasties.” 

The youth nodded, and his helmet bobbed, obviously too big for his head. 

Crowley hoped he could help the boy but keeping himself in one piece was proving more difficult with each passing second. 

A large net fanned out, threatening to trap them. The demon bounded forward, knocking the boy aside, and entangled himself beneath its weighted ropes. He collapsed to the gritty floor. Crowley spat out the sand that clung to his sweat-drenched form. He gripped for the interwoven lines, trying to free himself. His heart pounded in his ears. It was typical for many gladiators to fall once snared. He had mere seconds to free himself before a spear would find its way into his gut.

His wild gaze rested on an approaching man. The gladiator before him sneered and thrust the spear at his exposed skin. Crowley cursed and twisted in the ropes. 

The blade nicked his side but missed its target and snagged in the net. 

Crowley hissed with a furious glee and grabbed the shaft of the spear, yanking the man forward. The demon kicked at the man’s head, knocking his attacker over, then he scrambled from beneath the net. 

His fingers flexed, and he realized his sword was no longer in his hand. He glanced back and froze as the man stood, brandishing Crowley’s old weapon. 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

The demon stood weaponless in the fight for his life. He swallowed and his throat begged for the refreshing bliss of water. His limbs trembled from exertion. Despite his thousands of years on Earth, Crowley did not have the body or endurance to handle the intense power struggle of the gladiator ring without his demonic influences. He stepped back as the man darted forward, raising the sword above his head. 

A spear shot out from beside Crowley and impaled the gladiator, halting his advance. The demon blinked and glanced back, spotting the boy from earlier. The young man nodded at him, then twisted the spear. The fighter collapsed to the ground. 

Crowley glanced around, realizing it had come down to himself, the boy, and one very ill-tempered looking lion. The beast snarled and sank its claws into the soft gleaming sand.

The demon licked his lips, then removed his helmet and jerked his head at the boy. “S-stand back. It’ll take me then…” He sighed and stilled his trembling limbs. “You’ll be the last, and you’ll get a pardon, so just, stand back.”

“Why would you do that? Why sacrifice yourself for me?”

Crowley spat, eyeing the prowling cat. “I’m not sacrificing myself, sort of. Well, not really. I mean, I know what it looks like. Just paperwork in the end.” The beast sunk low, ready to pounce. “It’s just that I know I’ve done a lot more to deserve this. And, if it’s between you and me, I mean.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve fallen once already; I can do it again, I suppose. I just hope,” he said more to himself, “that my stupid angel doesn’t blame himself for not being here. It was my own damn fault. I’m the bastard to blame. I should’ve been the one to get out of this, in the scheme of things.” He tensed, meeting the glittering eyes of the beast. “Sorry, Aziraphale.”

The massive feline lunged, knocking him to the ground.

Crowley coughed as air escaped his lungs. 

He grimaced, snapping his eyes closed. The demon didn’t want to see the fangs sinking into his neck or see the claws as they tore through him. 

The lion growled low deep in its throat, then raked its tongue across Crowley’s face.

He hesitated, then glanced up into the enormous golden eyes.

Again, its rough tongue slid across his face. The cat released a low vibrating chuff from its mouth, and the demon raised an eyebrow. It sounded like a purr. The giant, ferocious beast of the plains then curled on top of him, continuing to lick his face. 

Crowley’s heart leaped as thought clicked into place. His head darted around. It had to be a miracle that the beast hadn’t sunk its teeth into him. 

The crowd roared with laughter and cheered as the cat continued to cuddle with the pinned demon. 

“Alright, you big beastie. Get off before you crush me.” He groaned and pushed himself out of the sand. The cat nuzzled its shaggy head against him, almost knocking him over again. “Yes, yes. Thanks for not killing me and all. You are a good kitty.” He scratched the mane of hair. 

The main gate of the ring-opened and a half a dozen guards advanced inside. 

Crowley sighed and sauntered forward with the massive feline pawing beside him. “Let’s see if I’m right about this.” 

The lion’s head brushed against his legs as though unwilling to leave his side. Crowley did his best to ignore the tremendous pain radiating from his ribs and skull. His body seemed worse for wear, but it was still in one piece, so it was hard to complain. 

“Some sort of divine intervention?” Crowley smirked at the closest guard. 

The man held his sword at the ready. His gaze flicked between Crowley and the massive cat at his side. “I didn’t believe Dio when he said you made a deal with the Christian god, but I’ve never seen a lion–”

“Befriend one of your fighters before,” Crowley interjected. “Yeah, well. All a part of the ineffable plan, I suppose. So, what now? Am I free? Can I leave? Do I get a big feast and holiday in my honor?”

The man narrowed his eyes and motioned for him to reenter the dungeons. “You have been sold. Your new master is waiting for you. Whatever deal you made with your Christian god must’ve been a good one.”

Crowley frowned and patted the cat once more. “Oh, I doubt that.” He strolled forward, leaving behind the young man and the lion. 

The jailers removed his armor, leaving him in shackles and a simple loincloth once again. Despite his snarky efforts, they hadn’t hit him anymore, which was good. But, his breathing had grown more labored since he’d left the ring. He possibly had a concussion or a few broken ribs, or probably both. 

He hissed out a sigh and closed his eyes. For once, Crowley almost found himself praying. He didn’t care how much grief the angel gave him or if he’d owe him lunch for the next century. Either way, it didn’t matter, and hope swelled in his chest. 

Someone nudged his side. Crowley blinked his eyes open, and the guard motioned him. The demon turned and paused. 

It had indeed been the angel.

Aziraphale stood clad in silken white robes. His golden curls held a crown of gold leaves while his feet were covered with leather shoes. Sweat nor sand had clung to him despite the hot hours of the day. 

The demon’s joy subsided as his eyes fell upon the angel’s gaze. His eyes were hard, uninviting, and seemed to hold back a storm that raged just beneath his surface. 

Aziraphale stepped forward and glanced at the demon’s sand-covered body. He reached up and cupped Crowley’s chin in his hand, then tilted his head, eyeing the gash below his temple. 

Crowley let his eyes flutter closed. The warmth that emanated from those fingertips spilled over his skin. It seemed to want to wrap him in its protective heat and bathe him in its soft light. 

The guard stepped forward and passed Aziraphale a scroll. “Payment is all accounted for, and I have been instructed to warn you: this one may have made some sort of deal with the Christian god. His eyes are unnatural, and his mannerism in the ring is proof enough. You’d be better off killing him, rather than risk a curse.”

The angel’s cold stare met the guard who shifted back from him. “I will take it into consideration. We shall be going now. Come along.” He raised a brow at Crowley, then turned away. 

The demon sighed and followed as best as he could. His body trembled, and he worried he wouldn’t be able to walk to wherever they were going; he supposed to Aziraphale’s villa.

“Just a bit further, dear boy,” the angel whispered. 

Crowley glanced at him and blinked. Aziraphale had his hands clenched and seemed to be quivering; with rage or what, he had no idea. They walked through the streets with only a few side glances their way. Aziraphale strode a few paces ahead of him, but Crowley knew the distance was customary due to his status. He didn’t think the angel’s anger was directed at him, at least not entirely.

Crowley stumbled through the doors of the villa and collapsed to the ground. Everything hurt. His head swam from dizzying waves crashing into his skull. His stomach grumbled, and his throat felt caked with more sand than the arena. 

Strong arms that emanated warmth and light encircled him. Crowley vaguely realized someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t register the words or their meaning. He was hoisted to his feet again, and he groaned.

“No more. Can’t walk anymore.” He forced his feet forward, guided by the gentle voice beside him. His ribs ached with each breath. Crowley forced out a weak chuckle. He had escaped the blades, the claws, and the noose, only to die to a punctured lung. Some part of him suspected he _had_ made a deal with God, and She was ready to collect. 

“Easy now, dear,” the angel’s voice wobbled in his mind. 

Crowley spied a large bed and Aziraphale helped him to sit at its edge. He winced, letting out a breath as his body settled on the plush mattress. The manacles clicked open and slipped to the floor. Hands cupped his face, forcing him to focus on the features inches from him. “Angel?”

“It seems as though you’ve lost your powers somehow or you surely wouldn’t let yourself be in this state. I’ll do what I can, but,” he hesitated and bit his lip. “My dear, if I don’t try to heal you, I fear the worst will happen, but I can’t—”

“Can’t guarantee I won’t burst into a ball of fiery ash,” Crowley groaned again. “Yeah, I know. I trust you, angel. Do what you want.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath.

Crowley closed his eyes, letting the haze blanket his mind. “I think I’ll miss you the most angel. It’s been…nice.” He snorted, wondering how humans did anything when they were injured if this was how their bodies reacted to pain. He seemed almost giddy despite the impending loom of death hovering over him.

Aziraphale pressed a clay jug against Crowley’s lips, letting him gulp down the cold water. It streamed down his face as he snatched for it and didn’t stop until he’d drained the container. The liquid burned and soothed on its way down his throat. He hated being more human. Crowley hadn’t realized how taxing it could be to try to heal his body in its weakened state.

His mind refocused as a servant stepped into the room, carrying a large bowl of water and a cloth. Aziraphale thanked and dismissed the young man before dipping the fabric into the water. “Now, dear, I need you to hold still. We must get you cleaned up before I can mend you. We can’t risk infection, now can we?”

Crowley blinked, then eyed the cloth. “Are you…?” But, the angel pressed the cloth to his head before he could say more. Cool, refreshing beads of water slid down the edge of his face. He let out a low sigh and closed his eyes. 

Someone else bathing him wasn’t unusual, but before, it had been by human servants, and it had not been Aziraphale. A gentle warmth heated the places he touched with the cloth. As he worked, Crowley had to think more and more about anything other than what was happening. The soft caresses of the fabric and the angel’s fingertips were enough to send heat shimmering all across his body. His throbbing aches seemed to shift from unbearable to something he had grown accustomed to over the last few millennia.

He shivered as the angel worked his way down Crowley’s chest, guiding the dripping cloth across his skin. Crowley bit his lip, trying to focus away his burning desire to pull the angel into the bed with him. It would probably kill him if he tried to seduce Aziraphale, but at that point, if he was going to die anyway, he’d might as well enjoy it. 

“Are you able to stand, my dear?”

Crowley coughed, trying to clear his thoughts. “What? Yeah, I think so. Why?” He eased up onto his feet, and the angel reached for the cloth around his hips. 

“A-Angel, what are you, I mean, um…” His vision shifted, which only happened when his eyes reverted to their full snake-like appearance. His gaze remained fixed on Aziraphale. Perhaps, he really was trying to make Crowley discorporate. 

“I need to clean you off completely. You don’t, um, want anything to get infected, do you?” He tsked at him. “It’s not like we haven’t already seen everything before.”

Crowley swallowed down a lump in his throat and nodded. He couldn’t say anything. His mind appeared to have broken as the angel spoke and left one remaining thought with him as the cloth at his waist fell to the floor: Do not tempt him. 

Because he would fall if Crowley pulled him into that bed with him. No matter how amazing, wonderful, exhilarating their time together would be; no matter how many years he’d dreamed, yearned for Aziraphale to do exactly what he was doing, he couldn’t give in. The drowning realization that would cross the angel’s face would be worse than any pit in Hell, any torture they put him through, or any punishment he’d received for asking too many questions.

However…

As the cloth brushed across his skin, Crowley forced his eyes closed, and a soft sound escaped through his pressed lips. He felt the angel hesitate, then continue. Crowley could rein in his temptations, but his mouth was another story. A soft whine slithered from his lips, and he shivered, enjoying the bath more than he ever had in his entire existence. The cloth continued to glide all over and around him.

Crowley panted out deep breaths, focusing his hands to remain clenched at his sides. A new thought echoed in his mind, and he made a new mental mantra as the angel cleaned him. 

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. If you get off to this, you might as well go jump into a lake of holy water.”

“Did-did you say something, my dear?” 

Oh, Go–Heaven–Fuck, oh. Aziraphale’s voice had sounded so sweet and held a hint of huskiness as though–NO–he would not tempt the angel, not now, not like this. The stakes were too high. “Nope. Nothing, my angel.” Well, shit. Now he’d done it. “I, uh, just, never mind.” Crowley realized his voice had brought on a hoarse quality that he usually associated with humans drowning in lust and desire. He bit his lip again.

The cloth moved on to his legs, and Crowley gasped, letting out a relieved breath. It was over. The worst was over. He could survive to the end. Probably.


	3. Unspoken Words

“You appear much better, dear. At least I think so,” Aziraphale said as he glanced him over.

Crowley clawed his mind back into focus and glanced down at himself. And, before he could stop, he sputtered out a curse before stumbling back onto the bed. 

What he had been expecting was to look down and see if his body looked different. It felt better. His cuts didn’t sting. His bones and muscles lacked the atrocious aches and sharp pains that he’d grown accustomed to over the last month. For the briefest of moments, he had noticed the lack of slashes and splatters of crimson across his sun-tinted skin. However, he’d also glanced down and met the eyes of the angel; the one that had knelt at his feet. The touch of innocence smoothed across his face had been enough to drive the demon into his own temptation Hell. It made him want to bend down and take Aziraphale’s face in his hands. He wanted to let his mouth explore every inch of him, to let him use his body to convey just how much Aziraphale meant to him. Even if kissing would be all that the angel would allow, Crowley didn’t care, as long as he knew. As long as Aziraphale knew that Crowley’s world, his life, his everything, would forever be in the palm of his hands. He could ask anything of the demon, and he would make it happen.

“Crowley, dear? Are you alright? Did you require more healing?”

His eyes fluttered open and widened. Aziraphale had leaned over the bed without him noticing, or more appropriately, he'd leaned over _Crowley _without him noticing. Crowley stared into the angel’s concerned eyes. Any response constricted in his throat for fear of breaking apart the moment of closeness. He could use their proximity for the coming years, through the cold and damp nights to bring him the sliver of hope, a light when he needed it most. He swallowed the words, the pleading, and begging away for another time, another place. All he managed was a single word. 

“Aziraphale.”

The angel gave him a smile, which appeared filled to the brim with warmth and light; it shone in a way he’d hoped was just for him. And, Crowley thought that the odds were in his favor that he was right.

Aziraphale’s gaze flicked down, and his face took on an uncharacteristic look. One Crowley wasn’t sure he could believe. The angel met his stare once more. “Your lip is bleeding, dear. I guess I must have missed it earlier.”

Crowley brushed his tongue against it, tasting a hint of metallic heat on them.

And, before he could respond, Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Crowley's body seized, frozen in place, as the angel’s mouth met his own. Warm light seeped in from the touch, filling every inch of him. It sought out the dark places in his heart and soul, searching to heal every scar, every heartache, throughout the many, many years.

Crowley made a soft noise, a yearning groan that he was sure he’d be embarrassed about later, but right then, at that moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered, all that ever mattered was Aziraphale.

He closed his eyes and risked leaning forward just a little. Even if it only hinted at his longing, his deepest, darkest secret, to the truth about how much the angel meant to him, then he’d risk it all when the time was right. For the time being, he settled for a nudge in that direction.

Aziraphale hesitated as though surprised by the reaction, then pressed his lips harder against him.

Crowley couldn’t help the quiver in his limbs. He had been cut off from his power for, in all honesty, being an idiot, but that meant he couldn’t hide his human reactions to their kiss. Most importantly, he couldn’t hide his eyes.

Aziraphale released them with a tender reluctance. His eyes met the demon’s once more, and he gasped. “Crowley, oh, dear. Oh, my dear.”

He could feel them now, the slight dampness that stained his cheeks, hot with longing and hope. “Sorry,” was all he could manage.

Aziraphale threw his arms around him and buried his head into Crowley’s shoulder. “Never. Never be sorry.” Then, he leaned up, risking his lips next to Crowley’s ear as though the world were listening, which could've been true. The demon felt a new heat, one that matched his own tear-stained face, but was filled with angelic grace.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath and whispered. “My dearest, never be sorry…for love.”

Crowley sensed the years, splitting through his heart, and he wrapped his arms around the angel. He wasn’t sure how long they clung to one another. But it was long enough for them both to release the years of hopeful feelings, ones that had been buried for a few millennia he guessed, feelings that they dared never to speak aloud.

Aziraphale sat up first and wiped at his eyes. Crowley did the same and wished for his damn glasses, and just like that, the angel held out a hand. 

Crowley glanced down and in his palm were a pair of purple-tinted spectacles. He gazed up at the angel before taking them and put them on. 

The angel gave him a soft smile. “I'm sure you've been quite distraught without them, my dear.”

He nodded appreciatively, then glanced down again, remembering his lack of scars or bleeding cuts. “I, uh, didn't know you could do that, angel. Healing with warm water and kisses? No wonder humans pray for angels to heal them.” His voice had regained its characteristic playful tone. “I'll have to keep that in mind.”

Aziraphale flushed, then recomposed his features and gave him a small knowing smile. “Well, to be honest, that's not the only ways we can heal.”

“What?” Crowley coughed and stared at him. “Come on, angel. I'm defenseless here. You can't expect me to be able to fight back when I'm in this weakened state. You're an angel. You have to play fair.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, then rose from the bed to gather the washcloth and bucket. “Oh, my dear. Just think of it as payback for Pompeii.” He set the basin outside the door, then closed it again. 

Crowley grimaced from the overwhelming feelings associated with that night. “Yeah, I guess. But really, angel, I'm the demon, remember? I do all the tempting and such. Though,” his mouth quirked up at one end. “You wouldn't make a half-bad demon. Maybe we could take over for the other sometimes. You know, consider it a vacation. I'm sure we could each use one of those. And, I'm sure I could manage a few _small_ miracles on occasion.”

Aziraphale stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Absolutely not. How dare you even make such a jest.” He crossed his arms and stalked over to the chair at the corner of the room. 

Crowley leaned back against the bed. Life had returned to normal once again. Though, somehow with a hint more of hope for the future. “If you say so. But, we both know you'll change your mind in the end, give or take a few centuries. I know how stubborn you can be, angel.” He risked a glanced at the stewing angel and grinned.

Aziraphale gave him a haughty pouting look before turning his nose up at him. “That will never happen.” 

“I'm pretty sure, angel, that more impossibilities have happened tonight that we both thought would never happen. So, forgive my optimism.”

Aziraphale's ears edged pink, but he glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. “I always forgive you, my dear.”

He growled, feeling stupid for falling into that particular irritating trap. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

“How about a drink then?” Aziraphale rose and produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. “And, you can tell me about how you lost your demonic powers. At a guess, I imagine it to be quite an entertaining tale.”

Crowley grumbled but accepted one of the glasses. “I doubt it. Not unless you want to hear about how I slept through a few meetings for the last decade.”

“Sounds like most of your stories, my dear.”

Crowley huffed out an agitated breath, then sipped the wine. “Oh, I like this one. Didn't we have this back in Cairo?”

Aziraphale sipped his own wine. “Yes, I believe we did. Another moment in time where I had to miracle you out of harm's way. I still can't believe you, risking Michael finding you like that.”

Crowley paused then fixed his gaze on the angel that had moved to lounge at the edge of the bed. “How did you know it was me? How did you even get here? I thought you were in Egypt.”

The angel smiled as he sipped his wine. “I suppose it was ineffable–”

“You know I hate that word.”

“Well, I suppose it did have something to do with the fact that I had not heard a peep from you for at least a decade, my dear. Not to mention, you left me in Pompeii in such a rush, I feared I had done something to upset you.”

“No.” Crowley swirled the glass, staring at the red liquid. “More the other way around really.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You thought you'd done something to upset me?”

“Never mind, angel. It's not important.”

Aziraphale didn't respond but left his lingering gaze on him. It was as though Crowley were one of the scrolls with which the angel loved to study and reveal its secrets.


	4. The Rising Smoke

It hadn’t been the beams of sunlight that had awoke Crowley that morning, or the soft morning breeze rustling his copper locks; it had been, however, the distinct scent of smoke swirling in from the balcony. The demon opened his eyes, glancing around the white stone walls. He blinked at first, not comprehending his surroundings. It had been weeks since he’d been able to lounge in luxury. 

Crowley groaned at the familiar throb in his skull from his wine indulgence. Yet, he’d been with the angel, so he was not at all surprised by his morning hungover state. 

A tattered scroll popped into being above him and landed in his lap. Soot puffed out, staining the pristine white sheets. He hesitated before reaching for the paper as he recognized the familiar blood-red seal of the damned pressed onto the edge. 

A cold sweat beaded along his brow. Having the memo appear there, in his lap, and within Aziraphale’s walls couldn’t equate to a good thing. Then again, his luck had been so bad for so long that maybe it had turned back around. It had been in a downward spiral longer than usual.

Crowley snatched up the paper, feeling a bit optimistic about his odds.

_Serpent,_

_You have fulfilled your punishment. In addition to your efforts this morning, you are hereby granted full access to your demonic powers. _

_I_ _f you fail to check-in at the appointed time again, your punishment will be **severe**. _

_Do not try my patience, snake._

_Dagon _

_Lord of the Files _

_Master of Madness _

_Under-Duke of the Seventh Torment _

Crowley squinted at the paper. He _had_ to have read it wrong. The only effort he’d put into anything that morning was sleeping in after drinking most of the night with Aziraphale. The demon froze, clutching the paper. 

Aziraphale.

He threw off the sheets and leaped from the bed. “Aziraphale! Where are you, you bloody angel?”

“Crowley?” The angel called back.

He spun toward the sound and spied the archway leading to the balcony. Crowley, despite his pounding headache, leaped over the chaise lounge and hurried through the opening. Sunlight glared down at him, forcing him to squint his eyes. 

Aziraphale stood near the railing. His hands were at his sides, and he was staring off into the distance.

“Angel, are you alright? Did they hurt you?” He cringed at the panic, flooding his voice, but it was further down on his list of worries.

Aziraphale turned with a quizzical stare and blinked. “All is well, my dear. Are_ you_ alright?” 

Crowley still clutched the paper in his hand, then as he remembered it, brought it up to his eyes again. “I suppose I am. I just… Did I sleepwalk or something last night?”

The angel gave him a comforting smile. “You seemed very tired. I don’t think you moved at all once we got you into bed.”

Crowley reread the scroll once again as though he’d missed an entire sentence, or his brain could reorder the words into something that made sense. 

Aziraphale shifted, leaning his head over to glance at the page. However, he didn’t say anything about it. After a moment, he turned back to the railing and resumed his stare into the distance. 

The smell of smoke had grown, and Crowley found himself glad he could miracle it out of his clothes once again. Then, something clicked in his brain, and he glanced up at the angel. He followed Aziraphale’s gaze, and his throat constricted to a near choking degree. 

Hellish flames spewed from the top of the colosseum. Thick black tendrils of smoke billowed out from several openings in the massive structure. People ran in the streets frantic for water while moving anything from the path of the blazing inferno. Crowley stood in awe, disbelieving what his eyes showed him. 

The angel continued to remain silent. 

Crowley found his voice again and stepped up beside him. “Any, um, any idea what happened? Not that I’m complaining, I mean, those bastards were pretty harsh with me, and the kid, too. I’m not sure we would’ve made it out of there without a bit of divine intervention. Can’t say I’m upset watching the whole blasted thing burn like that. Serves them right.”

“My thoughts precisely,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley whipped his head around and gaped at the angel. “Aziraphale.”

“Apparently,” he hesitated and wet his lips. “There was a lightning strike early this morning.”

The demon shivered, then against their usual code, grasped the angel’s quivering fist in both of his hands. “Aziraphale. Please, please tell me…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. If he really had started the fire, if he really had smote the humans, if it was at all against God’s plan or any of Heaven’s plans for that matter. The consequences would be deadly, or perhaps worse. It could mean that he’d…!

Crowley jerked the angel’s hand, forcing him to meet his hard eyes. “Show me,” he snarled. “Show me your wings! Right now, angel.”

He didn’t resist the rough way Crowley had pulled him or resist the hard edge of his voice. Aziraphale didn’t give him a retort or even his sad smile. His face remained a neutral, if somewhat, hollow mask. And, it broke something inside Crowley. 

“You stupid, bloody angel.” He begged, sensing years of fear and dread rising in his throat. “Show me now!”

Aziraphale gave a single nod and shuttered as a pair of wings emerged from his back. They fanned out behind him, catching bits of light and dazzling the world around them. 

Crowley lunged forward, wrapping both arms around him. Hot tears spilled from his eyes with unusual ferocity. “You stupid angel. Why? Whywhywhy_why! _Why did you have to scare me like that? Why did you risk that?”

His words seemed to awaken something in the angel once again. Aziraphale leaned forward, returning Crowley’s clinging embrace. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley couldn’t remain standing. His legs trembled from the sudden rush of fear and anguish of if the angel’s wings had been anything except white. “Don’t you,” he shuttered, gasping for breath between his choking sobs. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, angel. I-I mean it.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I acted…rashly.”

The demon gave a small bitter laugh, allowing him to start to compose himself once again. “Why? Why did you do that? You could’ve lost everything. Everything, Aziraphale! Don’t be stupid, angel. Hell is not a nice place. There is no love there, no wine, no soft clothes, no sweet tartlets, and certainly no damn bloody niceties. Promise me; promise me, you’ll never do anything like that again.”

Aziraphale tightened his grip, digging his fingertips into Crowley’s back. “But,” the angel’s words quivered out as though Crowley’s agony had infected him, as though his heart was linked to the demon’s own trembling soul. “But, I did,” he whimpered and buried his face in Crowley’s neck.

“You did what?” Crowley exhaled, finding his own calm once again. His angel in pain meant he had to be the rock to steady them both and, for Aziraphale, he could do that no matter how many spikes of fear had driven into his heart in his moment of panic. 

Aziraphale hesitated, then leaned back, meeting Crowley’s eyes. 

Another spike seemed to pound into his flesh at the sight of the angel’s puffy eyes. 

“I thought that I had lost everything, Crowley. I didn’t want to…to risk that happening again. You have no idea.” Tears trickled down his angelic features. “No idea how frightened I was, up in the stands, I didn’t even know it was you. Not until your helmet…”

Crowley remembered then, removing his helmet right before the lion had lunged. He gulped, realizing his own luck had kept him alive until then. 

“I screamed when I realized it was you, Crowley. You could’ve…and I would have had to watch you…” He leaned back further and covered his face with his hands. “But, you’re right, I am a stupid angel.”

The demon leaned forward, wrapping his arms around him tighter. The angel’s wings quivered and faded away, giving Crowley more room to pull the angel into a protective embrace. “You’re not stupid. I was just,” he sighed in an attempt to steady his voice. “I was scared. I didn’t want. I never wanted, I mean, I know I’m a demon and all, but if I’m being honest…” He groaned at his rambling words.

“You were scared that I’d Fallen?” Aziraphale tilted his eyes up again and sniffled. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Crowley pulled him close again. His hand came to rest in the angel’s soft curls, and he tilted Aziraphale’s head against his shoulder. “Let’s just get you inside and dry your eyes. That’s what matters.”

Aziraphale let out a small shuttering chuckle. “You know, you are too kind, my dear.”

Crowley groaned as he pulled them to their feet. “Don’t call me that, angel. If a word like that gets around, I’ll be the laughingstock of Hell. Can’t have that.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aziraphale wiped at his eyes as they headed back into the room. 

Crowley guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t believe in sleep, but please, try to rest. It helps,” he hissed, realizing he should be taking his own advice, but thought better of it. “I’ll take all the blame for the, uh, lightning-fire thing and keep watch while you sleep. I get my commendation and, I don’t know, you can thwart my whiles for the next few years or something. It’ll all even out in the end.” He took a step toward the chair as a hand encircled his wrist, tugging him back. He paused, glancing at first the hand, then at the–by all the blasted, bloody universe–blushing angel. 

Aziraphale met his eyes, and Crowley knew that whatever he was about to ask, Crowley would have to do. Of course, he’d complain and give him some sort of snarky retort, but in the end, he always gave in. “What is it, angel?”

The angel’s cheeks and up to the tips of his ears flushed. He glanced away but didn’t release his grip on his wrist. 

Crowley let out a teasing sigh. “You want one of those apple sponge cakes from that bakery we passed yesterday, don’t you?”

“No, not that.” Aziraphale turned back to face him appearing to steel himself for whatever request he had in mind. “Would you, if, um, I mean if it’s not too much trouble…” He glanced at the empty spot next to him on the bed.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up so fast he worried they’d flown off his face. “You, um,” he swallowed down a lump. “You want me to sleep…with you?”

Aziraphale’s hand trembled, and he glanced away again. “I mean, dear. If it’s not too much trouble, it would help if you could perhaps lead by example. I haven’t had the pleasure of sleeping before, and it would be a terrible loss if I got it wrong the first time.”

A small, but real smile quirked up at the edge of Crowley’s mouth. He made an exaggerated gesture of rolling his eyes and crawled over the bed to the empty spot. 

Aziraphale released him and scooted up, resting his head on one of the pillows. 

“There’s not too much to it.” Crowley laid on his back and rested his hands behind his head. “Just close your eyes and try not to think. Takes a while the first time, but you get the hang of it. Just remember not to sleep too long, or you’ll end up fighting lions—”

The angel had edged closer, shifting his body almost up against Crowley’s side. Then, without a word, he rested his head on the demon’s arm. And, scooted over once more, pressing himself against Crowley while resting his hand on his chest. As if sensing the demon’s rigid state, Aziraphale said, “If this bothers you, we don’t have to—”

“S-Shut up, angel.” Crowley readjusted his hand and let it rest on the angel’s head. His fingertips rubbed at the silken strands of blond hair. “If you keep worrying, then neither one of us will get any bloody sleep.”

“Crowley?”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked a little, and he coughed, playing it off as completely not a response to the closeness of the angel, and completely nothing to do with the shuttering ripples tingling down his body as he lay there relaxing with his angel in his arms. He would’ve killed for moments like this, possibly literally, just for the chance at such a beautiful memory. His chest swelled as he drank in their devil-may-care attitude. Crowley tried hard not to imagine the look on any other demon’s or angel’s face that could decide to pop in at any moment. It would probably spoil their time together, but if it came to it, Crowley knew he’d fight them. He’d take on the world for his angel, and maybe someday, that’s what the world would ask of him. But for now, it didn’t.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated.

“Hmm.”

“I said, did you know your heart is beating quite rapidly, are you feeling alright, my—”

Crowley leaned down and, using his hand to tilt the angel’s head, he brushed his lips across Aziraphale’s mouth. He lingered there, committing to his mind the taste that hinted of blush wine and apples. He committed the inviting feel of his warm lips. And, committed the irresistible soft sigh that escaped from the angel’s mouth as they touched, and embedded it all to his memory. He released him, not daring to look into those shimmering blue eyes. Those eyes that he knew without a doubt would be looking into his, searching for more; for more touches, more kisses, and if he met those pleading eyes, Crowley knew what he would do. But, he also knew they were already in dangerous territory, and any more would plunge them off the cliff’s edge that they walked by each day. He had already been afraid that they had fallen once, and he would not risk it again.

“Goodnight, angel.” Crowley laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

Aziraphale shifted next to him, melting against him and let out a last contented sigh before relaxing into sleep. 

Crowley knew right then, that even if he knew he was no angel, he was a terrible demon.


End file.
